


Weekend Cooking

by Jenny_Starseed



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Cooking, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny_Starseed/pseuds/Jenny_Starseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas and Martin attempt to teach Arthur how to cook. The key word is attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weekend Cooking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sc010f](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f/gifts).



> Written for the Cabin Pressure Gift Exchange for sc010f who asked for a story where Douglas attempts to teach Arthur how to cook. Beta and Britpicked by niennatelrunya and lady-t-220, thank you both for your input on British food and the beta-ing my fic on such short notice.

“Carolyn, this is all too much,” whined Douglas. “You cannot expect us to safely fly this plane without proper sustenance. I’m afraid that one day, we will succumb to Arthur’s culinary skills. And I mean succumb in an entirely bad way. This dish is really a crime against dairy products.”

Martin picked at his dish. He didn’t like the way it jiggled. “What are the green bits?”

“Left over spinach” replied Carolyn.

“It doesn’t look like spinach,” said Martin with great skepticism. 

“It’s Arthur’s vegetable savoury jelly,” replied Carolyn shortly. “Honestly! You try running a charter company on such pittance. We are in a recession and cut backs have to be made.”

“At the expense of the peace of our stomach lining,” grumbled Douglas. His grey mush did nothing for his appetite.

“Well Chef Douglas, if you feel that you can do better in the culinary department, by all means prove it by imparting some of your culinary wisdom to Arthur” said Carolyn. 

“I hardly think—“ 

“No! No! You are right. God knows I can’t stomach his cooking any better than you can. I suggest you give Arthur a cooking lesson next weekend or else I won’t be responsible for your food when I allow Arthur to cook from the restricted list.”

Douglas and Martin paled.

“There’s a restricted list?” asked Martin. 

“Oh yes,” said Carolyn with a malicious gleam in her eyes that Douglas didn’t like. “An unfortunate but ever growing list of food not fit for human consumption in Arthur’s hands. It includes specialities form the butcher’s discount aisle, a jar of Cheese whiz Arthur brought last year on our trip to Philadelphia, Salad cream and anchovies among other things of unspeakable gastronomic horror. The dear boy thinks a combination of all of the above, pulsed in a food processor and baked in a 180 degree oven will be, in his words, 'a paramount and brilliant surprise casserole.' This casserole will be reheated for your pleasure on our next flight to Rome if you refuse to teach him how to cook something edible this weekend.” 

Douglas tried to keep a straight face but even he couldn’t hide the horror of the idea of the not-so-surprising but infinitely horrifying casserole. Martin pushed away his plate in disgust. After a moment of consideration, Douglas decided that he had little to lose. 

“Fine. Any preferences?”

“Cheap and preferably something that can be served to you two without much complaint. God knows I’ve had an earful about Arthur’s creative cooking skills so this can only be a positive solution for the both of you.”

“The both of us?” repeated Martin. He didn’t like the sound of that. 

“Oh yes,” said Carolyn. “You, Martin, will have a hand in guiding Arthur in the development of his cooking skills. More importantly, you will be keeping a tight rein on Douglas, making sure he doesn’t go over his budget. You two won’t be dining on pre-made fancy sushi if I can do anything about it. Well you two, draw up your best recipes and be over at my house this Saturday at 3pm. And good luck. God knows you will need it."  
_____________________________________~***

It was a Saturday afternoon in the Shappy kitchen. Carolyn had an afternoon date with Herc and had made very clear hints that she preferred to not be disturbed. Only a house fire would warrant a call to her mobile. Arthur was the only one who seemed excited at the prospect of an afternoon of cooking. 

“Wow, it’s like those cooking shows me and mum watch on the telly. Will we be having little bowls of salt, pepper and herbs in a straight line like how Nigella Lawson does it?”

“Actually, no Arthur, we won’t--” answered Douglas. But before Douglas could continue, Martin brought out little plastic bags of pre-measured herbs and spices. 

“What is that?” asked Douglas.

“What’s what?” replied Martin. “Oh! These! Well, you can never be too prepared. I’ve weighed every gram of salt, pepper, sugar and herbs with a kitchen scale for utmost accuracy.”

Martin brought out more plastic bags. In them, there were already pre-cut onions, tomatoes and lettuce. Douglas looked unhappily at the little bags. “Martin, you do realize this is a cooking class for Arthur. It defeats the point of teaching him anything if you’ve already done most of the work already.”

“I know,” grumbled Martin. “I just wanted to make it easier for Arthur.”

“Easier than cutting an onion? Arthur is nearly thirty, not a seven year old who is only allowed to use the dull scissors in primary school.”

“What’s done is done! Can we just get on with the lesson?”

“What will we be cooking, chaps?” asked Arthur. 

“Steak and ale pie with a salad,” said Douglas.

Arthur’s face fell a bit. “Oh. But I’ve made that before. Can we make something else?”

“Really, Arthur?” said Martin. “Because I really don’t remember having it during our flights.”

“Yes you did,” corrected Arthur. “But I didn’t call it steak and ale pie. I called it the Arthur Shappy beefy surprise everything pie.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “That was a steak and ale pie?”

“Yeah! What did you think it was, Skip?”

“A most unconventional pie by most pie standards if I remember correctly,” said Douglas. “Was this before Carolyn created the restricted food list?”

“How did you know?”

Douglas brought out the steak and put it on the counter. “It contained enough unmentionable mystery goop for me to hazard a guess.”

“I can tell you what the surprise is if you are really, really, really curious,” offered Arthur. “I’ll give you a hint: it’s the connective bits of a cow’s knees chopped up and blended together with gravy mix, water, cornflour and pepper. Mum said it gave the pie a unique texture.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” murmured Martin.

Douglas cleared his throat, quickly recovering from the vague disgust of the thought. “Well Arthur, today we will teach you how to cook a proper steak and ale pie.”

“Oh,” moaned Arthur. “But proper is boring.”

“But infinitely more suitable for human consumption by the majority of working pilots,” quipped Douglas. “Now, we’ve provided most of the ingredients. I’ve bought the steak and the frozen pastry. Martin has brought the vegetables and seasonings—“

“I pulled in some extra favours from the agricultural students for the organic onions, tomatoes and cucumbers,” said Martin. 

“And I’ve got the beer,” said Arthur. 

Douglas took the bag of chopped onions and dumped them into the pot with oil. Arthur looked into the pot with interest while Martin continued to fish little bags of vegetables out his backpack. 

“What are you doing Douglas?” Arthur asked.

“I’m browning the onions.”

“Why are you browning the onions?”

“It releases the flavour.”

“How?”

“The heat brings out the flavour of the onions.”

“Oh, I thought onions were already pre-flavoured.”

“Browning the onions gives it a better flavour. Now Arthur, take the beef out of its packaging and cut it into cubes,” ordered Douglas. 

Arthur did so while whistling what sounded like pop goes the weasel. Douglas ordered him to put the meat into the pot, instructing him on the proper cooking of beef to make sure the outside was correctly browned. Martin added the seasonings and the vegetables. 

Martin carefully read Douglas’ hand-written instructions. “Now Arthur, we’ve browned and cooked the beef and softened the vegetables, it’s now time to add the ale into the pot and let it simmer for ten minutes.” 

“Here you go, skip! I’ve measured it myself to make sure it’s exactly a pint of ale,” said Arthur, handing Martin a large container of yellow liquid that Martin poured into the pot. The three of them diligently made the filling, put it in a casserole dish and rolled the puff pastry on top to bake. 

“What will we be cooking next, chaps?” asked Arthur. 

“A Niçoise salad,” said Martin.

“What’s that?”

“Hardboiled eggs, tuna, tomatoes and lettuce,” said Douglas. “It’s almost Arthur-proof in its simplicity.”

“Can we put cheese on it?” asked Arthur.

“I don’t see why not? Grated cheese is always a welcome in a salad,” replied Douglas. 

“Can we replace grated cheese with Cheese Whiz?” 

Douglas and Martin looked at each other. Cheese Whiz was definitely on Carolyn’s restricted list. But morbid curiosity won out of common sense at this point. 

“What does it look like?” asked Martin with a bit of apprehension. 

Quick as lightening, Arthur rummaged through the cupboards to find a jar of solid orange something that was cheerfully labelled Cheese Whiz. Martin cautiously opened the jar and smelled it before handing it to Douglas. With a knife, Douglas tentatively scooped some of the half solid cheese out of the jar and regarded it with distaste and suspicion. 

“No Arthur. We will not be putting this on our salad,” answered Douglas. “Or on anything that we have the privilege of eating for that matter. Please put it away to rot quietly in pantry purgatory.”

“But it will give it an American taste to our food,” explained Arthur. “It’s cheese in a jar! What a wonderful invention. Do you know that Americans also have cheese in a spray can? I’ve been searching for those whenever we are in America.”

“Yes, I am well aware of the American fondness for abusing cheese,” answered Douglas. “I prefer my cheese on a tray, to be set out in its natural but cubed glory, not processed, dyed and stuffed in a jar or in a can with a deceptively happy label.”

Martin took the jar from Arthur. “Arthur, as the captain of MJN Air, I’m making the executive decision to leave Cheese Wiff off our menu in the foreseeable future.”

“It’s Cheese Whiz, Skip,” said Arthur. 

“Wiff or Whiz, I concur,” said Douglas. “Absolutely no Cheese Whiz will be consumed onboard Gerti.”

“Ooooh!” moaned Arthur. “But I hate grating cheese. I always have little cuts on my fingers when I grate cheese.”

“Is that why you like to put everything in a food processor?” inquired Douglas. “Because you don’t like cutting and grating?” 

“How did you guess? It’s one of my secret methods.”

“A wild shot in the dark that explains a lot about the gloopiness of our food,” said Douglas.

The salad was an easy thing to teach Arthur. Martin and Douglas later found out Arthur already knew how to boil an egg and that very fact solved the mystery of the odd lumpy mystery #2 ingredient that Douglas always referred to as mysterious white rubber. One day Douglas will ask Arthur how he managed to make eggs taste not like eggs. 

By the time they finished making the salad, the steak and ale pie was ready to be taken out of the oven. The pie came out beautifully. The crust was golden and flaky and it smelled delicious. Douglas was feeling smugly triumphant, Martin was impressed and Arthur was plain excited. Douglas proudly cut a piece for each of them. 

“Dig in chaps,” said Douglas. “This was my grandmother’s recipe. It’s a secret recipe so don’t you pass it along if you want a proper sleep for the next five stop-over this month.”

“This looks marvellous if I do say so myself,” remarked Martin.

“Wow! It’s just like one of the pies you see in the shops,” said Arthur. 

With much excitement, the three had the first bite of the pie. Martin’s face soured at the odd taste that seeped out into his mouth. Douglas chewed slowly as puzzled disappointment settled on his features. Arthur enthusiastically ate the whole lot without any of the hesitation that Douglas and Martin had. 

With a tentative poke at the beef filling, Martin remarked “Douglas, does something seem a bit off about this pie?”

“It has a certain _je ne sais quoi_ quality about it,” he replied. 

Arthur beamed with excitement. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Only if you’re a delightful female, then yes,” said Douglas. “If it’s food? Then no.”

“What does je ne sais....quo mean?”

“It roughly means an unknown quantity,” said Martin.

“Like a surprise?” asked Arthur.

“Something akin to that,” replied Douglas. 

“Brilliant!”

Martin rolled his eyes. “That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“But surprises are always brilliant! When you know exactly what’s in your food when you eat it, it takes away the fun of eating it.”

Douglas took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully. “I don’t understand it. It tastes a bit sickly sweet. I supplied the meat, Martin supplied the vegetables and seasonings and there’s nothing wrong with the pastry since it came from a supermarket and looks amazing. And we watched you like a hawk, Arthur, to make sure you didn’t do something unforgivable to our food. That only leaves the ale...Arthur, what kind of ale did you put into the filling?”

“The same ale I always order at the pub,” he replied. “Ginger ale.”

Martin and Douglas groaned. 

“That explains the sickly sweetness of it,” said Douglas. 

“I think it’s brilliant. It’s like the supper and dessert all rolled into one pie!”

Martin put his pie away in disappointment. “No, it’s not brilliant at all.”

Arthur frowned. “Why not? The pie doesn’t have to please everyone for it to be wonderful.”

“Arthur, can you think of one thing you made that people actually liked?” asked Douglas.

“Um, not really. People don’t give my food a chance. I make a brilliant cheese sandwich and chocolate chip cookies.”

“And what’s in the chocolate chip cookies?” asked Douglas. “Tuna for the extra flavour of the sea?”

“Tuna? Now that’s just silly. It’s simple really. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar and chocolate chips.”

“Oh. That sounds reasonable,” said Martin.

“If these cookies are so brilliant, then how come we never had them on board Gerti?”

“Because mum wouldn’t want to upset her delicate figure and she could never stop eating them when I make them. That’s why they’re banned from Gerti. And since mum is away, I made some cookies earlier today.”

Arthur brought out a plate of cookies from the pantry and set them down on the worktop with a flourish. They looked like normal cookies. There was nothing suspiciously Arthur-esque about them at all. 

Martin cautiously took a bite of one and was pleasantly surprised. “These actually aren't bad.”

Douglas cautiously ate one as well. “No, they’re really very good.”

“You should teach us how to make them sometime,” suggested Martin. He reached for another cookie.

“I could teach you how to make it now, if you like. Mum won’t be back for another couple of hours and there’s always room for more dessert.”

“I didn’t know we made dessert,” said Martin.

“The steak and ginger ale pie is sort of a half dessert,” said Arthur.

“Well observed,” remarked Douglas. “Now what do we need to make this chocolate chip cookie?”


End file.
